


To the ImpInt agent reading my posts

by DarkShadeless



Series: SWTOR - collection [10]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: (the Empire way), (through monitoring of online activity), Emotionally Abusive Parent, Gaslighting, Gen, I am not kidding, Invasion of privacy ahead, Parent ignoring a child's chosen gender identity, Sith Empire levels of surveillance, That gets resolved, This was supposed to be a fluff piece and look where that got me, Transphobia, Tremendous angst, Witnessing of the following (not directly) through said monitoring, abusive parent-adjacent figure, but i'd really rather no one get triggered here, deadnaming, of a teenager by an adult, sexual harassment (off-screen), so please take care, some of the issues mentioned might also happen on screen (unless explicitely stated), suicidal thoughts (blink and you miss it mention), uh, yeah lots of heavy tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 17:09:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19114090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkShadeless/pseuds/DarkShadeless
Summary: Minder Thirty-two is a surveyor of information. He scans, he copies and occasionally he deletes thousands of entries a day.But there is one account among those in his sphere of responsibility that keeps catching his interest.#To the ImpInt agent reading my posts: Do you have a first name or is your first name agent?





	To the ImpInt agent reading my posts

**Author's Note:**

> … yes, I made myself cry writing again. I'm a little nervous because of all the heavy themes and the different style... eh.
> 
> This is a general sort of headcanon, which is why I didn't put it into any of my series specifically. If anything it belongs most to 'Glittercore and Pastel Rebels' but it's also confirmed canon for 'Long Live the Emperor (Whether he likes it or not)'
> 
> If you want to read up on 'Glittercore and Pastel Rebels' which is fun and fluff about Empire youth culture, it's currently still in my SWTOR Shorts, chapter 17 and 18. (Those are not necessary to understand what is going on here. Sidenote if you do look that up: Varo's screen name is CakeOrHugs)
> 
> Glittercore and Pastel Rebels I: Headcanon (https://archiveofourown.org/works/10656495/chapters/44556778#workskin)  
> Glittercore and Pastel Rebels II: Snippet (https://archiveofourown.org/works/10656495/chapters/44557102#workskin)

 

 

Minder Thirty-two is a surveyor of information. He scans, he copies and occasionally he deletes thousands of entries a day but there is one account among those in his sphere of responsibility that keeps catching his interest. They don’t distribute particularly sensitive intel, not at all. In fact most of their collection of posts pertains to fashion best labelled as ‘colourful’ or is, in their terms, ‘shit posting’.

No, what keeps him going back to their entries, whether his programs flag them or not, is less about the content and more about how they keep labelling it.

 

_#To the ImpInt agent reading my posts:  
_

 

(An assortment of pastel paints)

_#Your work must be very boring. Is it boring?  
_

 

(Two pictures, side by side: One of them is an assembly at the Dromund Kaas school of higher education, district 5, the other is a plain white background with identical stick figures drawn on it.)

_#WHERE IS THE LIE_

 

(picture of a sleeping loth kitten)

_#Are you practicing good sleep hygiene? You will never make it to cipher if you burn yourself out._

 

(Chili challenge! Drink a whole bowl of Chandrilan chili soup in one go.)

_#Tag! Your’re it. (I almost died.)_

 

(Gif of a stereotypical movie spy in the middle of a snowstorm)

_#Bruhaha. Do you really wear dress uniforms everywhere?_

 

(Scientific journal entry about stress and holo-net work)

_#Do you get to take breaks? Do they keep you in a little cubicle and you have to sift through Empler ALL DAY?_

 

(Color palette in pastel and glitter)

_#What’s your favorite color? I like pink and baby blue but I guess you knew that ;)_

(Picture set of various very gravity defying hairstyles)

_#You should do something about your hair. Go wild!_

(Picture of a grassy landscape with mountains)

_#When did you last sit in the sun? Go sit in the sun :P Go OUTSIDE period_

 

_#How many agents does it take to open a door? ONE! Because they’re A GENT! Get it? :D_

 

(Picture of a holo-unit that has been cracked open, with an axe stuck in it.)

_#I’m learning to hack :P just you wait, I’ll give you a run for your credits. Maybe I’ll figure out who you are >:D_

 

(Picture of a lopsided chocolate cake)

_#Do you like cake?_

_Do you have cake on your birthday?_

_When is your birthday?_

_How old are you?_

_You should have cake_

_But not this one_

_I ate it_

_All of it_

_At once_

_… I think I’m gonna be sick_

 

Indeed, while hardly what one would call proper, their posts are little sparks of color and happiness, a window into a life the likes Minder Thirty-two has never lived and never will. He can’t help but feel they are talking to him, even as he knows that’s not correct. They are just a teenager, joking around with something they don’t understand and shouldn’t have to.

It’s nice, to find these gems between all the messages he looks through every day, to be able to check in on their account for what they have thrown out into the void for him to find.

And then one day the little treasure trove of messages starts to change. There have always been more serious snippets in between…

 

_#To the ImpInt agent reading my posts:_

 

_I just don’t feel like a girl, you know?_

_Are you a girl? What does that feel like?_

 

_Why doesn’t mom ever listen to me_

 

_Punched my best friend today. Guess we’re not friends anymore._

_I don’t care, she can go suck a dick.  
_

 

_Mom says I’ll never get a real job if I don’t stop dying my hair._

_… I don’t want to stop._

 

_I wish dad was still here_

_My mom has a new boyfriend_

_I don’t know how I feel about that_

 

Yes, sometimes they write serious things, personal things, things someone might write into a diary to get them off their chest. These bits and pieces are what makes him feel torn over his duties, just a little. Are they really for him to read? But compared to other information he looks in on they aren’t so private, or so secret. They are literally out there for anyone to find. As long as they don’t write him something he has to pass on he’ll never tell a soul. Why would he?

Reconciling that, it turns out, is far easier than what comes after. The messages change and for the first time in a long time Minder Thirty-two comes into conflict with his mission parameters.

 

_#To the ImpInt agent reading my posts:_

_I don’t like him_

_I-I don’t know why  
_

_He keeps looking at me, it’s creeping me out_

 

_Mom started on the dress thing again and I know it’s because he talked to her about it, I just know it_

_He asked me last week why I never wear them and I told him I wasn’t a girl_

_He laughed_

_I tried to tell mom he scares me but she says I’m making things up_

 

There are no little sparks of light in their posts anymore. They don’t create original content all that often either, where once he could have spent hours on their feed if it wasn’t for pre-screening programs. No gif sets, no aesthetic pieces that make him consider what it might be like to relax his own dress code. Half of what they are saying is hidden behind private-post filters, screaming into the emptiness of an echo space without recipients. It’s these posts that most often have his signature now.

 

_#To the ImpInt agent reading my posts:_

_I don’t know what to do_

_He touched my knee when mom wasn’t looking_

 

 

_… please help me_

 

* * *

 

Varo’s hand hovers over the holo-bin the second he has finished the post. It’s ridiculous, it’s stupid, no one’s ever even gonna see these but- but- gods he just wishes someone would _tell him what to do_.

He’s almost eighteen and every time that asshole talks to him or touches him or, or just looks at him he’s a child again, stuck in the wrong body and a pretty dress and he wants to crawl into a hole and die.

“Open the damned door, kid! Your mother’s on the comm and she’s worried!”

Varo pulls his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them, until he is as small as he can make himself and tries to ignore the pounding of Parsh’s fist against his door.

“Felicity!”

He plugs his ears and squeezes his eyes shut. Thank the kriffing stars he figured out how to boost his lock years ago. No one is getting in here. Probably.

 _Oh gods_.

 

 

When Varo wakes, he’s still curled into a defensive ball in the furthest corner of his bed, his holo projector the only light in the room. The clock tells him it’s six in the morning. He has no idea when he fell asleep.

It’s quiet, outside.

His stomach growls. He hasn’t left his room since yesterday morning. He didn’t dare to. Mom was visiting a friend all day. When she’s not there… He didn’t dare go out.

But she should be back now and Parsh never gets up before noon and… if he is really quiet no one should notice. Varo rubs his sleep crusted eyes and thinks, not for the first time, that he should just run away. Enlist in the army, damn regulation haircuts and uniform, and never come back. Just a few more months.

Not for the first time, either, something else sneaks up on him too.

_I don’t have a few more months. I don’t. I need to get out of here._

But _how_?

Unlocking his door is one of the scariest things Varo has ever done. He doesn’t breathe until he’s sure no one is waiting outside. It’s not far. Down the corridor, to the left, the cooling unit is right against the wall there, he can grab the milk and cereal, just the _whole thing_ , and not come back out until he’s sure his mom is home-

His mom is home.

She’s sitting at the kitchen table with her head in her hands, so quiet he doesn’t see her right away and when he does he almost has a heart attack.

Varo drops the bowl, the cereal and the milk for good measure. It breaks open and spills everywhere.

His mother doesn’t even twitch.

 _What the kriff._ “… mom?”

That seems to rouse her. Slowly, she looks at him, eyes bloodshot as if she hasn’t slept all night. “Felicity. Honey,“ He can’t even tell her, again, that that’s not what he’s called before she bursts into tears.

 

It takes Varo ages to calm her down and get her to bed. The flat is silent as a grave. It hasn’t been this quiet here since… since she brought home Parsh the first time.

Parsh.

He’s gone. The military police came in the arse end of the morning, broke the damned door down and arrested him. Drugs or… or smuggling or… honestly, he’s not sure his mom knows. Her recollection of the whole thing is spotty at best and from hearing it, they didn’t tell her kriff all.

Varo puts her to bed. He cleans up the milk and the cereal and the shards of his favourite breakfast bowl. Then he hotwires their busted lock to basic functionality, heart pounding in his ears the whole time.

He… he doesn’t go back to his room for a while. It’s still on, his holo projector, scrolling through his Empler feed. Ever so often it gets to the bottom, the last post, where it pauses for a bit.

 

_#To the ImpInt agent reading my posts: … please help me_

 

Kriff. Holy shit. Holy shit, holy shit. Shit.

 

* * *

 

 

_#To the ImpInt agent reading my posts:_

 

 

_thank you_

 

 

_you know what_

_this is kind of creepy_

_... so. What IS your favorite color?_

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Dissemination](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19125163) by [DarkShadeless](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkShadeless/pseuds/DarkShadeless)




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